Rec Room
by patricia51
Summary: Even serial killers make mistakes. Sometimes those mistakes have serious consequences. UnSub POV.


Rec Room by patricia51

(Even serial killers make mistakes. Sometimes those mistakes have serious consequences. UnSub.)

(Another quick story inspired by a completely unrelated movie.)

He trembled with want. With NEED. Hidden deep in the shadows, sitting in his latest stolen car, he watched as the people walked by. He eyed them with contempt. Sheep that's all they were. Sheep waiting for the butcher. Him. He touched the sheath under his jacket that held his knife. He would show them.

They said he was insane. That he couldn't control himself. Well he had proven them wrong hadn't he? He had been SO repentant; so carefully listening. He had nodded his head at all the right times; schooled his features to show his anguish at what he had been accused of doing. What he had done in fact but to make them all pay. And he had left the good doctor with all her platitudes and pretended understanding of him in her chair with her unseeing eyes staring into space.

He laughed to himself. The look on her face when he had caressed her useless throat with the knife he had made from the scissors. Scissors he had taken from her drawer. The delicious look of shock and disbelief that she had failed so completely, so miserably. Then he had strolled out of the facility using her key card and taken her car and come here to DC to resume his quest; to show the world how powerful and unstoppable he is

His breath caught in his throat as a young blonde woman came down the steps of the courthouse. By her dress and youth he decided she was probably one of the secretaries or perhaps a court reporter. His gaze narrowed on her. She seemed very self-assured in her walk and how she carries herself. He'll show her just how wrong she was thinking of herself that way.

He started the car and rolled to the front of the alley, his eyes tracking his target. She crossed to a parking lot, getting into a non-descript black SUV. He fell in behind her, maintaining his distance. He could be quite patient when the situation called for it. He had spent months setting up the good doctor after his last arrest.

She parked at a house in a reasonably nice neighborhood. The houses were close together which was sometimes a problem but the side entrance was hidden by the driveway and lots of shrubbery provided good observation and entrance cover. He drove past only once, parking the car several blocks away and doubling back on foot. He had seen the woman being greeted by a man holding a boy of perhaps five braced on his hip. Good, a stay-at-home father apparently. His lip curled in disdain. The roles were reversed from what Nature intended them to be. He will enjoy teaching them the error of their ways. Not that if it had been the other way around it would have made any difference.

He kept moving. He waited until dusk fell before coming back. Cautiously he surveyed the house. Too close to its neighbors for his liking but one could never count on everything going one's way. Besides, it made for more of a challenge. And he lived for the challenge, the thrill.

He circled as the hours passed. The lights had gone out one by one until only a single one remained. He peeked through a handy window. The child could not be seen. The adults were snuggled together on a couch, still dressed. He moved on to a darkened window, examining it for an alarm system. Satisfied he pried open the window and slipped into the house. Carefully feeling his way he found the door leading into the room he had just been watching. The couple was still there on the couch. They didn't stir as he appeared.

He laughed to himself once more. They were sleeping! Oh this was almost too easy. They would beg and plead and he would show them who the superior person was. He eased through the door; his eyes sweeping the room. No sign of the brat. If need be he could be taken care of later. If not than he would grow up and know that his parents had failed to protect them and only his generosity allowed him to live.

He drew the knife, admiring once more the way the light reflected from it. He started towards the couch.

"Wakey, wakey," he chanted mockingly. "Your destiny is here."

The reaction was immediate. Both the woman and the man came up off the couch in a tangle of arms and legs. He had them even though both seemed to shake the slumber from them much faster than he would have expected. They would panic and surrender and hope he was just there to rob them. In a way he was, he was there to rob them of their useless lives.

Then two hands were disappearing under unzipped jackets before coming back into sight in a blur of motion. He just had time to stop and realize he finally may have made a mistake as two pistols came up to center their dark muzzles on him. He doubled his speed. He could still reach them. They were weak, they wouldn't act, they would try to talk and while they did he would act.

Four loud reports filled his ears and it felt like someone had slammed him in the chest with a baseball bat. But he was strong, he was superior, he could...

Why was he looking up at the ceiling? He felt his hand open and drop the knife. Angrily he commanded his body. Pick it up! Do your mission. But it was getting dark and nothing was responding to his orders.

Two faces appeared over him. The two weapons were also present in his field of vision and still pointed at him. The woman spoke to the man.

"Told you someone was prowling around outside."

"So you did," the man replied in a deep Cajun accent. "And yes, I will spend next weekend on the window and door locks."

She turned her attention to him. "Oh there you are. You're under arrest. I am Supervisory Special Agent Jennifer Jareau of the FBI. I'd read you your rights but it would be a waste of time seeing as you have been shot four times in the chest and will bleed out in less than a minute judging by the mess you're making on our floor. By the way this is my husband Detective Will LaMontagne, Jr. of the Metropolitan Police. Say something Will."

He tried to tell them that this was all wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He was gifted in so many ways and no pair of ordinary humans could do this to him. But he didn't have the energy and as darkness closed over him he heard the male voice speak once more.

"Broke into the wrong goddamn rec room, didn't you you bastard!"

(The End)

(Title and final line taken from the immortal words of Burt Gummer (Michael Gross) in "Tremors" and addressed to the Graboid in front of him and his wife Heather (Reba McEntire) that they just purely shot to pieces. Goes to show you never know when you might need an elephant gun.) 


End file.
